“What’s it to you?” Hjalmar shot back, his voice slurring ever so slightly. Whatever Rabia had done when she pinned him had clearly had an effect.
“I had coin bet on you, boy. Lots of coin.”
Hjalmar paused, face half covered with a grubby towel someone had handed him. “She won fair and square; you weren’t cheated.”
“If you’d done what I said, you’d’ve won. I’d’ve won.”
“Next time you’ll know not to bet on me, then.” He pulled a loose-fitting silk shirt over his head. Bits of it stuck to his sweaty skin; other bits ballooned out, free-floating in the lack of gravity. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Where you from, boy?” the man demanded.
“Around,” Hjalmar answered.
“I know where he’s from,” Omesh said. Hjalmar fixed his dark eyes on him.
“Do I know you?”
“We’ve met.”
“Have we?” There
